O, burning sighs, unto the frozen heart,
To break the ice, which pity's painful
dart
Might never pierce ; and if that mortal prayer
In heaven be heard, at least yet I desire
That death or mercy end my woful smart.
Take with thee pain, whereof I have my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot start,
And leave me then in rest, I you require.
Go, burning sighs, fulfil that I desire,
I must go work, I see, by craft and art,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart :
Alas, I cannot therefore now assail her,
With pitiful complaint and scalding fire,
That from my breast deceivably doth start.
Go burning sighs !